Daisy was left alone under the tree with her occupation gone;
for Fido was after the lark bones. Her ear rang a few minutes
from the application of Ransom's hand; but that effect had
passed off long before Daisy's mind was quieted. For, gentle
as she was, Daisy was a little lady who had a very deep and
particular sense of personal dignity; she felt wronged as well
as hurt. Her father and mother never indulged in that method
of punishment; and if they had, Ransom's hand was certainly
not another one to inflict it.
Daisy was quite as much stung by the insult as by the
unkindness; but she felt both. She felt both so much that she
was greatly discomposed. Her watch over the feast was entirely
forgotten; luckily Fido had gone off with his master, and
chickens were no longer in immediate danger. Daisy rubbed away
first one tear and then another, feeling a sort of bitter fire
hot at her heart; and then she began to be dissatisfied at
finding herself so angry. This would not do; anger was
something she had no business with; how could she carry her
Lord's message, or do anything to serve Him, in such a temper?
It would not do; but there it was, offended dignity and pride,
hot at her heart.
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